Our Little Slice of Vahalla
by QueryingQuill
Summary: Not everyday has to be noteworthy. But somehow, they always turn out special. A series of unrelated stories in the lives of the Dragon Riders of Berk. NEW CHAPTER: Both Hiccup and Astrid lead dangerous lives. The trick is accepting that the other person won't always be safe.
1. Alright Sleepyhead

**Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD**

Hiccup awoke to the bright flash of headlights through the blinds as they scuttled down the street. He threw an arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the strobe. It passed, and along with it, the thudding of a muted bass-line; Hiccup guessed the car belonged to some freshmen out for a midnight joyride. He smiled inwardly, imagining their faces once the campus police caught up to them. It really was quite disturbing: the happiness he felt whenever the obnoxious newbies got in trouble. But then again, his perception of them had been severely distorted after a drunk student pulled the fire alarm for the third time in one night in his old dorms. Thank god his girlfriend had an apartment off-campus. And those annoyances _had_ given him an incentive to pack up and move in with her.

Hiccup hummed contentedly and rolled over, feeling the airy blankets tug at his bare hips, only to be met with an icy coldness radiating at him like the winter wind. His hand groped out blindly, finding the covers still smooth and unfolded. She'd never come to bed in the first place. Hiccup sat up groggily, blinking blearily in an attempt to shake the sand from his eyelashes. He squinted into the darkness, spying the sliver of buttery light streaming under the bedroom door from the kitchen. An audible sigh escaped his lips, blowing into the lonely night with the propulsion of frustration.

It had happened again.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and massaged the bridge of his nose. Astrid hadn't saved enough time for her classwork and her perfectionist nature was currently beating her up over the tiniest details on that neglected essay. Hiccup shuffled to the door, tugging a sweatshirt over his disheveled hair and wincing as the freezing floor grasped at his bare feet.

Astrid sat at the wooden dining table, papers and books and pens spread across the expanse of the grainy top like an Staples explosion. Her laptop glowed in the semi-lit space, a harsh contrast to the soft tone coming from the kitchen nook. She was slumped over, cheek smooshed against her hand, disinterestedly clicking though the blocky text on the page. An empty cup of coffee rested in her crossed legs, and she looked so tired it pained Hiccup.

Not wanting to startle her, Hiccup leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and whispered gently, "Hey, Astrid."

She jumped nonetheless, and Hiccup guessed she'd been floating on the brink of consciousness. The coffee mug tumbled to the tile with a frightening crash as she whipped around to face him, blonde braid slapping her nose. She rolled her eyes upon seeing him.

"God, Hic. Don't do that."

He approached, resting a hand on her shoulder. She gave a mighty yawn.

"Why don't you come to bed?" he asked, studying her droopy eyelids and blurry gaze.

"I can't." She yawned again.

Bending over to shut her laptop, Hiccup placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Astrid protested as the light dimmed and the whir stopped, leaving the two of them alone in an almost eerily silent kitchen.

"The essay's due tomorrow." Tired tears were beginning to form in her eyes, and Hiccup frowned heavily.

"Yeah, at three in the afternoon," he reasoned. "There's no way you can think like this. Get some sleep and then come back to it tomorrow."

"I–"

"Don't make me carry you," he threatened.

Astrid looked at him carefully, to make sure he wasn't kidding. She sighed resignedly.

"Fine."

She held her arms out, and Hiccup blinked, confused.

"What?"

"You said you were going to carry me." She gestured to herself pointedly.

Hiccup laughed, cracking the midnight silence.

"Alright, sleepyhead."


	2. Pathetic Dance

"What'd you suppose I'd be like if we'd never met?"

Hiccup looked up, surprised by the question. Astrid didn't met his eyes, instead keeping her gaze on the vibrant red mug she twisted anxiously back and forth in her hands. Her cheeks were flushed from the crisp wind racing down the street – a sweet cheery color that matched her lips perfectly. Her golden curls provided marvelous contrast to the bright blue of the sky behind her.

Choking down the remaining crumbs of his utterly unsatisfying croissant, Hiccup replied slowly, hesitantly, not quite sure where the conversation would lead. "Well, I'd probably still be the anti-social twerp with his nose pressed too far into a book."

He tried to force a laugh, which she mirrored – all the nervousness and trepidation he felt reflected right back in her fidgety fingers and wobbly smile.

She still wouldn't meet his eyes.

They'd been doing this jig for a while now – avoiding the real issue, feelings, complications. Neither wanted to make a move forward, like they were standing on the top of a foggy cliff; they might be at the edge, they might not. Neither wanted to ruin what they already had.

Hiccup sighed, knowing that Astrid desired an answer _not_ covered by jokes or rambling excuses. Knowing that he would not be able to provide one.

The waitress interrupted their awkward pause, dropping off the check. Hiccup promptly pick it up. Astrid barely protested, which was odd, because his best-friend was fiercely opposed to anyone doing anything for her.

Hiccup tried to avoid frowning, but when around her, it was hard to control his facial expressions (sometimes – like that time she wore a sundress, and he ended up drooling).

Astrid visibly winced. "Sorry," she muttered. "I've just been…off."

Hiccup nodded, like he believed her. Signing the receipt with a flourish, he placed the paper and tray on the end of the table, and turned back to the blonde. She'd pulled out her phone, her brow furrowed, tapping at the screen.

"Ugh. Ruff broke the washing machine again," she groaned, stood up abruptly, and grabbed her bag and sweatshirt. "I have to go." Astrid shifted on her feet, obviously not sure how to end their meeting. "I – thank you," she finally decided.

Then she turned on her heel and took off down the sidewalk, leaving Hiccup alone at a table with a dry croissant, and empty coffee cup, and a heavy heart.

Mentally cursing himself, Hiccup slapped his head into his hands, sliding his palms slowly down his face, imagining what was left of his pride melting with them. Staring after his best-friend's retreating form, he felt a familiar stab of pain.

"If only we were brave enough," he murmured, needing to hear it more than say it. "It seems we're simply stuck in this pathetic dance."


	3. Same Size

"Hey, Hic?"

Astrid peaked her head around the hallway corner, eyes still intently trained on the whirlwind state of her bedroom. Shirts draped haphazardly across her desk chair, a colourful lumpy jumble; jeans scattered what little carpet was left available, patch-working the floor; socks spilled out of her half closed dresser drawer like a cotton waterfall. The rare winter sun streamed in through the blinds covering the frosty window–cold, but nonetheless brilliant–adding warmth to the rapidly freezing dormitory. The horizontal shadows streaked across her comforter, casting hilariously sad prison bars across the old, scraggly teddybear that had somehow survived the tornado of destruction propped up against her pillow.

"Yeah," he called back, voice far away and hidden behind the daunting mountain of exams he still had to climb.

No doubt Hiccup had his face pressed in a text book, hair smashed up into a porcupine silhouette. The roped braids at the base of his neck probably had been there since last Thursday; he'd be an academically frazzled mess.

"You seen my sweatshirt?" she hollered back, toying with the end of her braid.

"Which one?"

"The grey cross country one? With the orange stripe on the shoulder."

Her only answer this time was a realising hum, muffled by the back of the couch.

She waited a moment, scanning the room one more time, just to be safe. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out where it'd went. She'd had it in her laundry bin last night, all folded and neatly stacked with her running shorts (she remembered because these days, she rarely had time to do laundry, let alone fold), but come to find that it had disappeared when she'd returned from class.

"Hic?"

No answer.

"Hiccup?"

Still nothing.

She started down the hall, towards the living room, padding across hardwood in stocking feet.

"Babe?"

Hiccup was slunk down on the couch, knees to his chest, pen between his teeth; three different highlighters stuck out from between his knuckles, like Wolverine had just fought a pastel rainbow. His legs were cocooned in flannel — apparently he'd neglected to change out of his pyjamas, because he wore sweatpants and–

"My sweatshirt!"

He snorted, spitting the pen onto a pillow and biting the cap off of the yellow highlighter.

"'Ook ooo 'ong 'uff o o'ice," he garbled.

Astrid stood baffled by the bookshelf. "I–I," she stammered, "I really need that, the team dinner is in half and hour."

Hiccup hummed again in response, still engrossed in "Design and Applications of Nanostructured Polymer Blends and Nanocomposite Systems."

"Hiccup…"

He groaned and plunked the thick book down next to him, standing and fixing her with a slightly miffed glare.

"I was in the zone," he grumbled, reaching for the hem —

But she darted forward and stopped him with a gentle touch to the wrist.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He just looked so hilariously adorable in the hoodie — the sleeves bagged slightly at the biceps and hung loosely around his hips (places that fit her shaped upper-arms and more feminine figure rather snuggly). She bit her lip, trying to contain the explosion of giggles building up inside at the sight of Hiccup "barely-hitting-130-pounds-soaking-wet" Haddock wearing her sweatshirt _perfectly_. She loved it.

He squinted at her, watching as tomato-red creeped slowly into her cheeks.

"What?" he insisted, a note of suspension colouring his tone.

She couldn't keep a snort in as she opened her lips to squeak, "Nothing."

One moment of eye contact and Astrid cracked, doubling over in frame-shaking laughter.

"Oh, come on!" Hiccup whined, throwing his arms up in the air. "It's not that funny!"

Astrid clutched at his forearm for support.

"No, Hic, it's amazing!"

He rolled his eyes as she pulled him into a hug by his waist. He set his chin on top of her head, letting his arms dangle at his sides, trying (and failing) to maintain a determinedly sour attitude.

If it were anyone else mocking his stick-esque stature, perhaps he could have mustered some anger. But Astrid's eyes alit with glittering glee, matching a resplendent smile stretching from ear to ear.

He gave in, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

"Yeah, yeah, it's so funny that I can fit into your clothes. We're the same size — wow! So abnormal!"

She sobered for a second, gently chuckling. "I suppose I knew that we were — I mean, I've shopped for you before — but I've never…thought…" her laughs had crescendoed, and Hiccup backed away, hands on his hips.

"Oh, come on, it's adorable," she assured.

"You're not boosting my confidence any."

They crossed gazes. He exhaled, incredulous, before joining in with her mirth. Hiccup went to pull off the sweatshirt, but Astrid stopped him again.

"No, no, no," she protested, if anything, hoping for him to keep the layer on long enough for her to snap a discrete picture. "Don't bother. I've got others."

"They're not clean, though," he reasoned, shaking off her hand.

"But you were in the zone! Far be it from me to disrupt your flow."

Hiccup raised an eyebrow, and said flatly, "you are _not_ taking a picture of me, get your hand out of your pocket."

She choked on air, barely regaining composure before she collapsed once more.

He glowered. "You honestly need to laugh at every embarrassing thing I do?"

She reached up to sweep the fringe out of his eyes.

"Only because I find you unequivocally adorable."

She pressed her lips to his cheek, quick and sweet, and his hands automatically found her hips.

"You should get going," he said, making no move to release her. "You'll be late."

She hummed, rested her forehead on his, made no move to release him, either.

They stood there for many moments, trapped in each other's eyes, before he pecked her nose, watching it scrunch playfully under the affection. Hiccup slipped from her hold, back towards the couch.

"You know, I tore apart my room looking for that thing," she asked as she grabbed her keys off the coffee table.

He simpered. "Aww, are you pouting?"

She sized him up briefly. "It looks good on you, you should keep it."

He stuck his tongue out at her as she passed.

"Have fun!" he called.

As the door swung shut, the last image she had of Hiccup was him, head thrown back, arm raised, lips pouted, striking a ridiculously exaggerated pose in her sweatshirt.


	4. Scared For You

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock didn't know a lot of things; how to fight hand-to-hand came to mind (as Snotlout had painfully proven to him last week), also public speaking (he was going to get rid of this stutter someday, _dammit_ ), hunting (blood made his stomach roll, alright?), multiple languages (to his credit, Latin, French, English, and Nordic were enough), and botany (one of the reasons Fishlegs was kept so close). But there was one thing he did know:

Astrid Hofferson scared him.

Sure, she'd always scared him a little, what with that axe perpetually glued to her hand. Hiccup had seen her like an unobtainable Valkyrie for much of his early life — beautiful, elegant, and dangerous. Perhaps that was part of the appeal; the intrigue perpetuated by the enigma surrounding her. Hiccup loved a puzzle. Always had, and Astrid was the biggest, most frightening he'd ever encountered. She'd punched him, kicked him, shoved knives and shields and blades in his face, dropped axe-hilts on his groin, threatened his safety and well-being numerous times in the past, but for scare factor, this, _this_ , had to take the cake.

"Good gods, you're heavy," he grunted as she sagged limply against him.

She giggled — the unfamiliar noise sending a shivering shudder down Hiccup's spine.

"Iss 'cuz I'm so muscley!" she exclaimed. One rippling bicep presented itself to Hiccup, right under his nose. He went cross eyed trying to focus on it. The low-smouldering coals in Gothi's fire pit reflected off her pale skin, throwing her muscles into beautiful relief.

Hiccup could almost overlook the large and angry sutured _trench_ that sliced its way down her arm.

He sighed, trying to convince himself that he was OK with this — that he was OK with his girlfriend returning to Berk after a scouting mission covered in mud and branches and soaked with her own blood. It was bound to happen sometimes, right? He couldn't control her, and her job with the Guard wasn't without it's risks. Try as he might, though, he couldn't shake the image of a pallid Astrid crumpling to the Academy floor, shivering and shaking and mumbling incoherently about a rogue Timberjack.

Astrid giggled again, trying to right herself, before stumbling and clutching at her head.

"'Mm I on a ship? Room iss swimming," she grumbled. She started slowly falling backwards, and Hiccup rushed forward to catch her.

"Alright, no," he said firmly. "You aren't going anywhere. You've lost too much blood. Sit."

With a gentle hand, he directed her back to the cot in the corner. Her usually brilliant blue eyes remained unfocused and cloudy, in no part thanks to the heavy ale Gothi'd given her before stitching her back together. Astrid had been in such pain that she couldn't sit still long enough for the needle to pass through the lip of the cut; the healing apprentice, Halguts, suggested getting the girl drunk enough to sedate, and while Hiccup had initially opposed the idea, he'd calmed considerably when his girlfriend had stopped writhing uncontrollably upon the wicker bed. Typical of Astrid, however, it wasn't twenty minutes after the stitches had been sewn that she became restive.

She blinked up at him. Pain briefly washed over her face and she grimaced unpleasantly.

"Stupi' dragon."

Hiccup chuckled anxiously, beginning to rearrange a pillow for her to lay down on. "I'm going to have to agree with you there."

When he turned back to her, she was staring at him, brow furrowed in consternation or thought, he couldn't tell.

"You mad, Hic?" she asked.

"At you?"

She nodded, and then winced as her vision began to spin. Using his helpful arm as support, she gingerly lowered herself onto the bedding.

Hiccup was silent for a moment, tucking one of the thick furs around her. Was he mad? Almost certainly, yes. Mad at his utter and complete inability to keep her safe. Mad that when she hadn't returned after four hours, he didn't go looking for her. Mad that her passion in life included a constant threat looming over her.

But at her?

He sighed again, crouching down next to the bed. "No, love, I'm not mad at you."

She rolled to face him, leaning on her good arm. "But you are mad?"

Maybe frustrated was a better word to describe Hiccup's inner turmoil. His overwhelming sense of helplessness that accompanied Astrid's multifarious and frequent injuries was something he'd always have to deal with — he hated it, but he couldn't stop her from putting herself in danger for a greater cause. From being Astrid.

"You remember what you said after my initial test flights on the Dragonfly prototype?"

She scoffed, a bit of the normal Astrid trickling in. "'f you say Dragonfly One, Mm locking you up.'"

Hiccup covered her hand with his. "Did you mean it?"

She opened her mouth, probably to snap out a "yes, of course I did," but then promptly closed it. Her face screwed up, and she was thinking as introvertedly as the potent pain and alcohol would let her.

"No," she decided. "Even dough i'waz a stupid, hav-assed plan, you're going to do whatever it takes ta figure out a problem. 'Specially with the hunters."

Hiccup smiled knowingly. "That's how I feel right now. I'm frustrated, yes, but this is your life, and my job — as a friend as much as your betrothed — is to support you in your decisions. If I could, yeah, I'd take you off the Guard, but that's a selfish way to think. I can't stop you, so all I can do is be here."

Her returning smile was the brightest thing he'd seen all day.

"You know I love you, right?"

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You tell me every day."

Her eyes were starting to close, and she yawned into the pillow.

Astrid gripped his hand slightly tighter. "Stay?" she asked, slowly drifting into incoherency.

Hiccup settled himself more comfortably on the wooden planking and hummed in confirmation.

When her breathing started to even out, big, deep inhales, Hiccup finally released his own breath. All the fear and panic he'd been sitting on since she'd returned flew out of his body. His shoulders relaxed. The lump in his throat disappeared. His mind stopped buzzing with anxiety as he watched a loose blonde bang flutter in the slight breeze blowing through the open window.

Whatever might be said about their differences, Hiccup realised, he and Astrid were the same at the core: willing to sacrifice themselves to help others. However much she scares him when she flies off alone, Hiccup would have to accept that fear.

Because perhaps that was part of the appeal — the consuming warmth when he held her, once again, safe, in his arms.


End file.
